


Mortality

by mamitomoe



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies), Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Brother Feels, Gen, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Multi, Rebirth, Temporary Amnesia, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-03 01:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15809019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamitomoe/pseuds/mamitomoe
Summary: Loki died that night, on that ship. But the stars smiled down upon him and saved him from his destined fate.18 months after the Snap and 6 months after the defeat of Thanos, a young boy by the name of Luke is spotted wandering the streets of Portland.





	Mortality

_ You will never be a god. _

The final gasp of a dying race, the crunch of bone and sinewy tissue as Loki gulped furiously for oxygen. The last sound the once glorious god made was a death rattle, one bounced and fumbled around like a distant cackle. The last laugh of the trickster god.

There was darkness, and then there was a flooding light that roared and consumed and tore what he once was to shreds. The tight binding of personhood being unfurled by the strings of fate as Loki felt his memories, his essence unravel into the universe like long ribbons. Floating and grounded at the same time there was very little to grasp, a fleeting thought of “ _ Is this valhalla? _ ” following by the dense realization that his…  _ kind  _ could not enter the golden gates of feasts. 

He misses his mother. He  _ still  _ misses his mother. His grief was never touched upon but packaged away and labeled under  _ revenge _ . Even when wearing the skin of his father and sipping fine wines there was the hollowness that threatened to consume him. A lingering thought of---

Darkness consumed him again. Flipping him from the white landscape into a void of inky terrain all swallowed into the hole of nothingness. And slowly… like the tender blooming of flowers stars began to speckle the horizon. Bursting with bright colors and spreading stardust in the long expanses of the universe. No longer did the black fingers of oblivion scratch across the sky but blues, purples, greens, pinks and even colors that he could not name freckled the walls.

_ This is the beginning… is it not? _

A question he posed for himself, for there was nothing living not remotely sentient in sight. In fact, looking down at where limbs and arms and torso would be there was something the shimmering colors of the universe reflecting back at him… It was as if in his death he exploded into bits and his stardust, not a bustling part of the galaxy joined the universe in its collective song of life. Interesting…

YOU HAVE BEEN REDEEMED, SON OF ODIN, SON OF LAUFEY !

The voice rattles his bones, or would have he still possessed them. It only shakes his soul, or whatever he is right now. Peculiarly the voice seemed inside himself, but also outside himself. It bared not decipherable gender, nor any decipherable dialects. It was everything and nothing at once.

“ _ While I am more than grateful to accept redemption, I currently lack the barings to accept _ .” The old lithe of the silvertongue worms its way back, even in death. A tongue so skillful it could seduce the devil.

YOU WILL HAVE A SECOND CHANCE. A CHANCE OF INNOCENCE AND GOODNESS.

Goodness seemed boring, seemed so safe and quite… capitan america-y for lack of better words. Goodness was attainable yes but not the ultimate goal.

YOUR CHARACTER HAS BEEN JUDGED AND THERE IS STILL KINDNESS IN YOUR HEART, SON OF FRIGGA.... _ Look toward the stars for guidance when you are lost, and I will guide you, my silver - tongue. _

This grand voice tapered into something smaller, something more lovely and beautiful than the trumpets of valhalla. Loki would weep if he could, if he hadn’t lost his tears long ago. 

“ _ Oh mo--!” _

Again, since he is not the only god that found joy in little tricks, he was swallowed into starlight and ripped again once more into the fabric of the universe. And slowly, ever so slowly, his dna began to knot into tight braids once more. 

 

**Downtown Portland, Oregon. October 18th, 2019. Approximately 18 months after The Event.**

 

“---Okay, did you manage to get a name or address or anything out of him before he slipped away?” It’s pouring out, it is always pouring out but its particularly cumbersome today since she left her raincoat at home by the dryer and is only armed with her standard office-wear jacket.

“No, sorry. I tried to get away to call as soon as possible but there was just something about him that… I mean, I  _ knew  _ he could bolt as soon as I called for help.” The man is tired, he has opened is bodega at exactly 8:03 am and besides the event with this street rat it had been a slow day, Horrible for his bills. 

“Thank you for calling us in, we will do our best to track him down but… Hold on let me get you my card-” she rifles around in her coat pockets and reveals a semi dry eggshell white card that listed a name, a phone number, and the address of about 200 cublicals crammed together. She almost winces when he takes it and her soggy fingerprint sticks to the paper. 

“If you see anything, or hear of anything else just give me a call. Again, thank you for calling this in… it really helps a lot.” She smiles, her cool business woman smile and turns on black pumps and marches out into the pouring rain. She feels a bit silly running, all cool composure and cool stature but the rain now comes down in sheets and her parking is about to expire and… fines would  _ not  _ go well with today.

Tearing the car door open she tumbles into the leather interior and shuts the door with a confident  _ thunk!  _ before smoothing sopping wet curls behind what her mother used to call fairy ears (they were so small and growing up in the northwest there was more legends in the woods than trees sometimes). Steam begins to climb up the windows, fogging up the already blurry visions of traffic. It would probably be quite difficult to get out, damn parallel parking--

“HELLOOO AGEN---!” cuts a voice rising from the backseat only to be cut off themselves by the surprise scream of the young government worker.

“FUCK! Andy don’t  _ do _ that! You know I can’t handle scares like that.” She grumbles, and goes back to smoothing the black pencil skirt under her legs so maybe, just maybe her thighs would stick to the awful leather seats. Andy, pops from the backseat and slides into the front seat with a gangly ease that did nothing to lighten the mood. 

“Okay, I am  _ sorry  _ Agent Morris but! On a more serious note I think I have a lead on the missing child case, or rather the  _ misplaced  _ child case. Her, look.” Without much flare Andy dumped a stack of notes on Morris’ laps before pulling his phone from his pocket and skimming several notifications. 

“Andy… I can’t read half of these. You write like a caveman. I mean, this one isn’t even notes it’s just what you got from the lunch run. Why can’t you… _ you know _ … use your notes app like literally everyone else.” Droplets of water sprinkle the page from the drying curls, smearing even more what was once “legible” writing. A soft frown dips on her features, baby crow’s feet wrinkling at the edges of grey eyes. 

“Okay, fine, fine. I’ll summarize. Basically, a few of the shelters in the area have been seeing this rather young kid. Dark hair, dark hoodie, mostly alone, well not  _ mostly _ , always alone. Some think he might be a mutant however there is not defiant reports or ones including you know,  _ evidence _ . Right now he isn’t doing anything wrong, from what I am seeing.” All this was spoken without making eye contact, and actually while the young government worker was texting his wife (they were still in the honeymoon stage of things) a bunch of heart emojis before finally finishing off with a rather toothy grin.

“Even if he is mutant, that isn’t the reason we are looking for him, kid. He looks, what… seven at most? The fact that he is so evasive is what I am worried about. Most likely an abuse victim…” This instantly kills the light mood of playfulness between the partners. Working in child services was probably the most draining job in the government, that and sex crimes. Morris often wondered if this was the right career choice but everytime she encountered a child in the process of healing it really struck her heart deeply and only encouraged her to push forward into her career. 

“Jeez… I guess I didn’t think of it that way.” Andy makes a mental note to make sure that he brings flowers home to his wife. A lot of abused kids came from broken homes and he didn’t even want to amuse the thought of adventuring down that road.

 

**Burnside Portland, Oregon. October 28th, 2019. Approximately 18 Months After The Event**

 

If rain could ever be considered a natural disaster, surely this would be considered one. Soaked through the already soggy sweatshirt and baggy jeans he feels himself begin to shake violently from the whipping winds and the sheets of torrential downfalls. Shaggy black hair slings to his face and bright red shoes that were once apple red now are dark as red shine back at him through the wavering puddles.  _ If only he could find his brother then maybe-- _

CRASH! 

He jumps from the sideway almost into the street, just almost. A car honks at him and the sound ripples through the air like rolling waves. The noise came from the alley, followed by small gasp and then the final whimper of  _ help!  _ There’s something in him, more animal in human, that says he should just bolt and forget he heard the cries from the  _ ahem  _ dark alley. But the heroic part of him, the part that he modeled after those heroes that defeated some kind of purple space god, told him to venture in and save the day. Armed with only some soggy shoes and voice that cracked between man and boy, he tip-toed into the brick alley.

“H-Hello? Do you need help?” His voice cracked, first man then dropped deeper into a man’s voice, or rather the man he would soon become in just a few years. Maybe less if he actually worked out more. 

“ _ Please  _ help, I’m stuck!” Again, the voice squeaks. This time it comes clearer, behind the dumpster and distinctly the voice of a child. Or something mimicking the voice of a child, this thought makes his blood turn ice. 

“H-H-Hold on, I-I’m coming!” With the last dregs of courage, he dashes to behind the dumpster to see a sturdy desk on top of two small, wriggling legs. The desk wasn’t large, made of cheap material that they probably furnished college dorms with. Regardless it was still heavy, and still trapping what he was _ sure of now _ was a kid. With utmost care, he lifted and shifted the cumbersome object until the waning strength gave out and white pieces clattered to the rain soaked asphalt. 

Now fully in the open was a kid, sporting jet-black hair like his only cropped short in a ratty hoodie and skinny jeans. His shoes were old, dirty even with a hole on the side that whispered of their use. But besides the general dirtiness of his surroundings, he sported two, brilliant emerald eyes that shined brighter than any diamond, and pale skin that a few childish freckles. 

“Are you hurt?” He was cautious, mimicking the tone of his older brother that was now away at university in another state.

“No,” as he said this, he tried to rise but a slow hiss escaped him and the tiny boy crumbled into the black trash bags in a sigh of defeat, “...maybe.”

“Okay um, before I tell you to go to the hospital and you probably refuse lets exchange names. And then I’m going to call my mom, because I’m not dragging you to the ER in this rain. Sound good?”

He nods, accompanied by a small sniffle.

“Alright, I’m Noah. It’s nice to meet you…?” Noah offers his hand, whether for him to shake it or use to get it, he really didn’t care. For a moment, the child looks puzzled, as if his name is locked far away from his reach. But after a moment of awkward silence and Noah’s hand be outstretched, he reached forward and heaved himself up.

“Luke. My name is Luke.”

Noah grins, his lopsided grin that would drive girls (and boys) wild once he turned 20. Luke doesn’t look more than nine years old, and its a bit of a bitter reminder that this is what he must have looked like to his older brother. Early stages of emo mixed with the drowned rat look was quite the staple look growing up and even know he prided himself on his careless style. 

“Well Luke, how do you feel about hot cocoa?”

Despite the rain and wind, Luke flashes his first smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm still tentative of whether or not I can/will finish this story so if you want another chapter please leave a comment/kudos! This is the first time in about 3 years I've written fanfic, and about 2 months since I have written a substantial amount of fictional work, so please be gentle...


End file.
